Infirmity
by emedealer
Summary: Molly is unable to have children. Assuming that Sherlock would never want such things, she never tells him. When he says he wants a family for them, she agrees for his happiness, but isn't able to give him what he wants. His hope for a child outweighs her obligation to tell the truth, but she doesn't know how long she can keep up the act. Married Sherlolly.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Thanks for stopping to read, I'll continue based on the response I get. Tell me what you think in a review, and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 1

It was the times when Sherlock was away for days on a case that Molly would find herself sleepless at night. It wasn't to say that she didn't have complete confidence in her husband, she always had. But having been together for two years, and married for almost one, it always frightened her thinking that one day she might get a call that he was severely injured, or that he might not come home. It was the times like this when these thoughts would creep their way in and burden her mind.

John hadn't been able to go with him this time, meaning he would be alone. She disliked the thought that it would remind him of his exile from London that he endured for two years. But that seemed ages ago, and things went on as though it never happened, which she had always been grateful for.

Sherlock had been away for a full two weeks in Dublin, having only sent her a handful of texts over the past few days informing her of his whereabouts and progress on the case. They usually only consisted of one or two sentences, but she didn't mind, as long as she knew.

It was six in the morning on a Friday when her phone buzzed on the kitchen table, and she wearily grabbed for it, squinting at the screen that lit up her face.

Case solved, coming home. I'll be late. - SH

She couldn't help the girlish grin at the sight of the message, even as she stood by the kitchen sink still clad in her pajamas, sipping a cup of hot coffee to remedy the sleepy haze she awoke with. She inhaled the warm steam with a sense of relief, because she'd missed him. Although the sun hadn't even risen over the skyline yet, she got ready for work with a new-found giddiness in her step.

She went about her day as normal, surprised when more than one of her coworkers stopped to comment on how happy she looked. It had after all been two weeks, and that was longer than any case he'd ever had to take in their marriage. It was when someone told her that she was "glowing" that she decided that she would make the night special, and planned to do some shopping after she got off work.

Molly arrived back to Baker Street with a handful of bags, lugging them up the steps along with her own purse and coat. She insisted to a protesting Mrs. Hudson that she could manage carrying them on her own, and practically fell through the door when she was able fit the correct key through the lock.

She was not ashamed to say that one of the bags contained severed fingers from the morgue, knowing that they would put a grin on his face when he went to open the refrigerator the next morning. After placing them there, she unpacked a hot take away container of pad Thai, aware that he likely wouldn't touch it when he arrived.

Finally there was a chic black paper bag with matching tissue paper and drawstring that she brought into the bedroom. She laid the contents out on the bed, admiring the white lace detail of the thin garments, which she had seen in a shop, and could only describe them as lovely.

It had grown dark outside, the time stretching close to what Sherlock would define as "late". Molly bathed and brushed her teeth thoroughly, taking her time as she went through the motions before she returned to the bedroom and carefully pulled on the lingerie, arranging herself on the mattress as relaxed.

She lay draped across the bed, one arm strewn above her head while the other rested on her stomach, which was partly covered by the thin sheath of fabric. Thin white straps adorned her shoulders, falling to the loose-fitting half corset that hardly seemed to touch her skin. The pale garment reached halfway down her torso, revealing the soft contours of her hips and abdomen, skin visible until it met the set of matching knickers that were decorated with a delicate fabric and detail.

As she lay on the white duvet, her fingertips mindlessly toyed with the end of the lace material on her waist. A soft smile spread across her lips at the familiar fluttering in her stomach, reveling in anticipation a she waited for her husband's footsteps outside the bedroom door, and the soft creak of it as he would enter the room in the early hours of the morning.

On other nights, he would usually come to find her curled up in sleep, carefully climbing into bed in an effort not to disturb her. It was almost always in vain though, as she would immediately wake when she felt the dip in the mattress as he settled behind her in bed after returning from a case.

She waited, a visage of peace with her eyes closed, fingertips lost in the auburn strands that fanned out behind her head. It might have been an hour before she heard the latch on the front door click, and open to the flat.

She grew eager then, to go out and greet him with an embrace. But she refrained, and waited, wanting him to come to her as he usually did, and instead of finding her asleep, to see her as she was.

Minutes ticked by broodingly, hearing footsteps in the living room at first, but then there was nothing. Ten minutes passed before she knew something was wrong, and reluctantly arose from the bed. She wrapped his blue silk dressing gown around her frame, hiding the undergarments that she still wished to surprise him with. Knowing that an aspect of the case might have gone wrong for him, she assumed that this may not have been the right moment for them.

She tied the silk belt around her waist as she emerged from the bedroom, walking barefoot through the kitchen to the living room where she knew he would be seated in his chair. He had turned on no lights, leaving the flat in darkness. All she could make out was the silhouette of the disheveled curls on his head as he sat in front of the long window, filtering in a dim light that briefly caught the sides of his face.

She could tell that his eyes were closed, and that his hands dangled off the ends of the armrests limply, as though he had come home too exhausted to think. For some reason, this startled her, knowing that there weren't many things that could have this effect on him. She took cautious steps towards his figure, coming to stop when she stood above him, looking down at his face that became more known to her as she came closer.

His eyes opened in a blaze when she reached a hand to brush her thumb along his relaxed brow, which furrowed slightly at the sight of her. The blue gaze did not strike her as it usually did, instead it was the tiredness in it that seemed to anchor to her like she was some sort of mirage.

"What's wrong?" She asked with genuine concern. She looked about him, eyes drifting to his Adam's apple as he swallowed, falling to the nape of his neck where the white collar of his dress shirt hung open slightly.

There was no audible reply, but her gaze filled with question when his fingers decidedly ran up the length of her arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. The hand halted when it found the silk sleeve that had bunched at her elbow. His eyes fell from hers as the fingers drifted to brush over the smooth fabric on her rib cage, the other snaking down to grasp her hip.

There came a moment when he felt a lace texture under the silk dressing gown at her waist that he ceased his pending exploration. His eyes flickered upwards to search her expression, which was calm on his, and knowing.

He peered up at her for a moment longer before returning his gaze. His lips parted as he let out a calming breath, hands sliding towards the loose knot on the dressing gown. Long fingers absently fiddled with the tassels that hung from the center of her waist before slowly pulling until the tie was released, and the fabric opened to him.

His fingertips gently glided on her bare hips as he marveled at her now, and the beauty that she was. They roamed over the plains of her stomach, skirting upwards under the thin lace on her diaphragm. With great effort, her hands covered his, stopping them at her touch.

"Sherlock," she whispered his name, urging him to meet her eyes. And he did, but not before taking both hands in his to place an earnest kiss on her knuckles.

It was then that he got to standing, palms skidding up her sides as he did so until they cradled her face. There was an intensity to his blue gaze, his lips drawn into a hard line that raised more questions in her mind. But she could only utter a gasp as he hooked a hand under her knees and brought her up his arms. She pressed against his chest under the fabric of his white dress shirt, hands wound around his neck to lose themselves in his dark tendrils of curls.

It was when their lips melded together that he carried her towards the bedroom, drawn to each other with a passion that neither had anticipated on this night, and an essence that was the visage of happiness in the midst of their musings.

They were through the threshold when he pressed his lips to her forehead, kicking the door closed behind them.

* * *

They both lay sprawled out on the bed, sounding the room with panting that had reduced in the previous minutes. Molly's vision drifted from the ceiling to the man at her side, whose eyes opened sleepily to meet her gaze when she wafted her fingers through the damp curls on the back of his neck. He laid on his stomach with an arm draped over her heaving chest, absently weaving his fingers though the strands of hair by her ear.

The peace that she felt in these moments could never be met equally with anything different. She could not think of a higher bliss than having him at her side, with mutual happiness radiating from the sound of his heavy breath that was leveling into rest.

She was robbed of this when he posed a question that she never thought she would hear, and never wanted to.

It had been a sense of relief at first, when he nestled closer to her face, head resting on her pillow. His breath tickled her neck as he whispered the question softly with fingers drifting over her cheek.

"Will you give me a baby?"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I had a reviewer ask if this story is an extension of my previous story, Phencyclidine. This is a new story, so I'm going to try to explore some new territory. I may plan to make a continuation of that relationship in the future though. In the mean time, I hope you enjoy the next chapter :) thanks for all the love!

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Chapter 2

The man who lay in the dark beside her gazed with heavy eyelids, soon drifting to a close as sleep took him, and without much of a reply to his question. Molly was grateful for this, as she wouldn't have had the faintest idea for a response.

She guessed that he had gotten little to no rest on the case from which he had just returned. Otherwise he would have waited for an answer.

Eyes turned to the ceiling, glued to the blank surface above as she raked over the question in her mind. As long as she'd known him, as long as she'd loved him, she had never predicted that he would ever want a family.

* * *

-17 years earlier-

A stately woman with greying hair sat brooding over her thoughts, eyes fixed on her teenage daughter as she waited in the confines of a bleached white doctors office. The lack of color in the room almost seemed to drag out the silence, mirroring the bleak atmosphere that hung about them.

Her daughter's vacant gaze never left the tile floor from where she was positioned on the edge of the exam table, fingers absently coiling with the auburn hair strands that fell around her face. The hem of the cotton hospital gown reached halfway down her calves, bare feet dangling motionless above the ground as she too waited for the pending verdict.

It had been four months since she and her mother had last been in the hospital, the initial reason being the severe cramping she had experienced over a three day period.

She had awoken in the middle of the night with a searing pain in her lower abdomen, gasping in sudden agony with a hand clenched over stomach. Within the next 72 hours, the pain had only come in brutal intervals. Dissipating until it became bearable, then heightening to a point where she found it best not to move whatsoever.

Her doctor given prescribed some strong alleviatives to remedy the pain, and requested that she take and record her basal body temperature every morning for the time being, hoping that they would find the source of it.

Molly, having already spent hours on end studying human anatomy and becoming familiar with the inner workings of the body, knew not to keep her hopes up. Consumed with these thoughts, it was the sound of her name that brought her back to the present.

"Molly,"

It was her mother who spoke from the chair by the door, sitting cross legged and upright, clearly uncomfortable. Molly only responded with a brief nod of her head to show she was listening. The older woman pursed her lips and continued.

"I'm sure that whatever the doctor has to say, it won't be what you think it will."

"I think we both need to be prepared for the worst, mum." Molly said as she met her mother's wide gaze, which finally faltered as she had nothing more to say.

It was then that the door swung open, Both mother and daughter looked up to the new doctor who entered the room. She was a short, raven haired woman, a bit stalky for her height, but held an overly friendly smile that countered the grave mood in the room.

"Good morning," She said with an outstretched hand to her mother, who obliged politely. "I'm Dr. Collins."

It was Molly who shook the hand hesitantly, but the Doctor did seem to sympathize, as she knew the circumstances better than both of the others.

"And how are we feeling today?" She asked routinely as she took a seat herself. At the authoritative question, her mother's gaze shot to Molly expectantly.

"I'm fine." She replied quickly, fingers clasped together in her lap. She hated to appear afraid.

"And how is the pain medication working for you?"

"It helps."

"As in, it's normalizing things, correct?"

"Yes."

And it had helped. The pain significantly subsided when Molly had been put on the pill, and kept her worsening symptoms at bay.

"Good." Dr. Collins replied, typing information into the open laptop on the counter. "We'll keep you on it, then. And we did talk about birth control last time. It would lessen the pain, and we could get you off the other medication if it does prove to help."

"I think I'd like to try it." Molly agreed profusely.

"Now hold on," Her mother chimed in, growing flustered that her concerns had not yet been attended to.

"Yes, Mrs. Hooper?" Dr. Collins chided with raised eyebrows. Molly inwardly groaned.

"I don't understand why she should be on birth control. Honestly, she's not even sexually active."

At this, Molly's heart dropped into her stomach. Had she not been only clad in the hospital gown, she would have been out of the room in two seconds flat. But she stayed, eyes falling to the floor as her fingertips instinctively dug into the foam covering the exam table she sat on.

Dr. Collins couldn't reply for a moment, eyes wide with disbelief on this woman who so innocently awaited an explanation.

"If you'd been listening," She started hastily at the expense of the mothers civil expression. "you would know that the purpose of her taking the pill has nothing to do with literal birth control. The medication itself subsides menstrual symptoms, which in your daughter's case, have become extremely severe."

"But isn't there just some sort of extra strength pain medicine she can take?"

"I'm afraid that the past experience I've had with other patients has proven that this is honestly the best and most effective way to cope with her condition."

He mother sighed exasperatedly, neither Molly or Dr. Collins able to identify with her concern.

"She is quite young for this kind of... medicine, isn't she?"

"I'm sorry?" The doctor asked, astonished at the question.

"She's only 18 years old."

Molly remained silent, watching her mother pose her ignorance, which grew more unnerving with every word.

"On the contrary Mrs. Hooper," Dr. Collins spoke consolingly. "I have many parents come in with their daughters, some of them as young as 15, asking for birth control. I can assure you that most of the prescriptions that I give out are not for medical reasons. Your daughter on the other hand, does have a legitimate need for it."

Her mother came to nod slowly, deep in thought as she finally understood and gave in.

"But besides that," She turned to Molly, who looked up and fixed her posture quickly. "we did get your results."

Molly couldn't have done anything to restrain herself from the hope that clung desperately to her thoughts and desires. She had tried, having convinced her mother that she had already let go of what ever was about to be taken from her. But in her own mind, she knew what it would be, and she had to fight back a sizable lump in her throat every time it crossed her thoughts.

"And?" She asked.

"You are aware of how the female reproductive system functions?" She replied, eyes falling to the laptop screen.

It was then that Molly knew without a doubt what it was, and her brief loss for words did not go without notice from both the doctor and her mother, but neither made any comment. For this she was grateful, and she managed a brief nod to Dr. Collins.

She closed the laptop, leaning forward in her chair to give Molly her full attention.

"What about ovulation?" She inquired.

"I've read about it."

"I haven't." Her mother sighed in annoyance.

"Well, to put it shortly," The doctor replied. "Ovulation occurs when follicles rupture and release fully developed ovarian cells. It is the phase of a female's menstrual cycle when an egg is released from the ovaries. After ovulation, the egg is available to be fertilized by sperm."

"So?"

"With the information that your daughter has provided, we've found that her basal body temperature is quite sporadic."

Molly instinctively laced her fingers tighter in her lap, fighting that familiar sting behind her eyes, which did not waver from the Dr. Collins' sullen expression as she listened.

She turned to Molly, speaking firmly and carefully. "I'm very sorry to inform you that you aren't able to ovulate. Your body isn't releasing the egg when it needs to. Meaning of course, that you are infertile."

Her heart fell, but she practically stifled a laugh. It was almost as though it was some sort of joke. Surely she couldn't be serious. It couldn't have happened, not to her.

But when Molly felt her breath hitch in her throat, lip trembling shakily as she shook her head slightly in disbelief, she knew then and there that it was true.

Molly truly had expected it, even tried to convince herself that the diagnosis shouldn't have been a surprise. But nothing could have prepared her for the weight that the final statement brought, and crushed the hope that she had inwardly counted on for months.

She didn't dare look at her mother, who she knew couldn't be close to the same state of devastation. She most likely suffered from the sort of disappointment that you get from a brief inconvenience.

Molly found it in herself to speak, clinging to any positive thought, which were seldom crossing her mind at the moment. "And you're sure the test is correct?"

"I'm afraid that even if we were to take further tests, the results would remain the same."

Molly nodded stiffly, not wishing to hear any more. She felt moisture gather in her eyes, and quickly wiped away the tears.

The ride home was spent in silence, as neither had anything to say. She always wished that her mother would have said something, anything of comfort to her in the car that day. But when she looked to her, there was only a vacant expression, eyes firm on the pavement as she drove down the street.

It was clear that the only help she would receive was her own, which was nothing new to her. It was after her father's passing two years previously that she had been emotionally isolated.

Molly couldn't look at the world now without seeing a void, that vacancy which had not been there before she was told that she could never have children. She had been truly excited to be a mother, and now she couldn't help but wonder what kind of man would ever want her, now that she couldn't give him a family.

It was the same void that gave her no incentive to leave her room for days, and that prominent ache that she couldn't have lifted no matter how hard and restlessly she had tried.

It was the lack of emotions following the appointment that frightened her, as though she hadn't truly accepted the diagnosis. She feared that she never would.

Molly hardly remembered what carried her through it all. Although she did have recollection of receiving uplifting words from her few friends and even her professors that had been informed for the sake of mental help.

Still, it was an emptiness that made up the whole of her emotions for a very long time. But eventually it receded into an unpleasant memory, and she had long accepted that she was barren. She told herself that it was part of who she was, and that there was nobody to blame.

* * *

It was now, as she laid beside her husband who slept deeply, reveling in the regular warmth of his constant and soft exhales on her neck, that she felt those horrid feelings flood back. She prayed that the question had only been wrought out of some loving pillow talk in their afterglow.

But the more she thought, knowing Sherlock, she knew that he would not have ever murmured such a question halfheartedly. It had most likely been planned, but it was genuine, and it broke her heart to have heard the hope in his voice as he asked it of her.

She repeated to herself over and over that she would ask him his reasons in the morning, but the thought of not being able to do this for him, to not give this to him after he'd given her everything, brought forth an ache that she couldn't restrain her tears from.

They flowed down the sides of her face as she cried without so much as a whimper. She inwardly scolded herself, feeling like an utter child. She reminded herself of her mother when she that had crossed her mind, and she quickly ceased those thoughts. Her eyes strained on the ceiling until fatigue overtook her, and they soon drifted closed.

She had absentmindedly left her tear streaked face without remedy, which awaited Sherlock's view and imminent deductions when his eyes would open to the late sunlight of the next morning.

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A/N: I love reviews :) please leave one for me, I'd love to hear your thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I hope y'all had a lovely weekend, I've been working like a crazy woman! Thanks for being patient Xx

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Chapter 3

It wasn't the soft light filtering through the gap beneath the bedroom door that pulled Molly from sleep that morning. Neither was it muted clinking of porcelain when their landlady brought up tea to the flat, exiting quickly afterward.

Rather it had been a subtle caress of a thumb that traced her lips, which parted slightly at the touch.

Her first intake of breath when she awoke did not come as she thought it would, as it was willfully overtaken in a feather light kiss. The press of her husband's lips on hers gave her much more reason to answer to the idea of waking fully, and brought about a mix of emotions that stemmed from the previous night. She was brought out of her half-sleep when he pulled away from her lips, leaving a trace of the delicate kiss with a soft nip on the corner of her mouth.

Her eyes drifted open to his pale blue gaze, her love's face shown in the dim light of the room. It had become a habit for him to wake her like this in the early morning, which caused her to groan sleepily at the sight of the clock on the nightstand, having to fight his playful antics until he would submit to sleeping alongside her again. This morning would have been no different, had it not been for the quiet intensity that made up his expression when he pulled back.

She had to have looked confused, for a moment as it were, because it was mere seconds before she recalled the brief amount of crying she had done hours previous. There was instant pang of regret for every tear she had allowed escape, which had no doubt left numerous streaks down her cheeks.

Her lips parted to speak, only to have the words catch in her throat when she didn't have the faintest idea on what those words might be.

She had wanted to say something of comfort when she saw the question hinted in his eyes as he tried to answer it himself. But they soon lowered to her mouth, unwavering in the sense that his curiosity was peaked.

She did find herself distracted by his current insistence as he decidedly loomed over her, delving into the kisses that he exhaled over the pale expanse of her neck and collarbone.

Her fingers rested on his chest, his own arms wrapping around her as they slightly lifted her off the bed, fervently arching her against him. He made a path with his lips up her jaw to claim her mouth, cleaving hungrily as he savored every soft moan that she tried to subdue sleepily.

He kissed her slowly, lips moving against hers with tenderness, almost a hope that he hadn't comprehended the subject of. But neither had gone far before he suddenly drew back, gently setting her down on the crisp sheets that crinkled as her bare back touched them. Her expression saddened at the loss, hands reaching up wantonly to snake around his neck in a desperate effort to bring him lower. She tried to kiss him, insistently pressing herself against him in order to rid herself of the air that touched her body when he withdrew.

His face was serious when he caught the hands that grabbed for him and firmly stilled them at her sides, finally causing her surrender as she collapsed back on the mattress. His eyes followed their tangled fingers, only yielding his grasp when a shiver coursed though her. He reached to seize the white duvet that had pooled by their feet, bringing it up to cover them both.

In the end she laid motionless on the bed, his hand splayed out on her stomach. His palm soon groped upwards, stroking over flushed skin until long fingers weaved through the tendrils of hair that fanned out behind her head.

The pad of his thumb lightly glided over her temple, skirting over dried tears that she wished to have kept hidden. There wouldn't have been hope for that anyway.

"Good morning," She panted breathlessly through a small grin, which dropped slightly when his severe expression didn't lessen into the upturned quirk of his mouth that she had hoped for. His silence also worried her, letting slip a brief look of uncertainty which she quickly traded for something content, if not hopeful.

This lack of emotion that he looked down upon her with used to be unreadable to her, but she had come to know that the piercing gaze meant that he was in the midst of his own thoughts, on the brink of his mind palace. She was relieved when he chose not to enter, swallowing in preparation to speak as though it was a taxing endeavor for him.

"I am sorry." He said softly, idle fingers taking to massage her scalp.

She couldn't hide her distress any longer, face turning sad at his apology. As far as she hoped he knew, there hadn't been any need for it.

"What for?" Her voice was small, weakly delivered when she asked.

His thumb grazed her cheek, wiping away what had long since dried up. "I thought you would be happy,"

She stilled his wavering hand with her own, ending his abrupt speech."Please don't be sorry. It was late, I was tired and a bit overwhelmed."

His brows furrowed, narrowing gaze turned inquisitive in an instant. "Why?"

At this, she did everything in her power to keep from going tense beneath him, but there was no question that he sensed when she went rigid. Even if he had, he showed no response, as he continued to search her expression, expecting an answer.

"It's alright." She whispered through a reassuring smile, turning her head to give a brief peck to the warm palm that he held against her face.

His hand flinched away from her lips, almost instinctively.

The abrupt loss of contact wrought a twinge of hurt in Molly, anxiety breaching when she worriedly looked up to her husband. She did not know if the sorrowful expression was brought on by her not being open, or by his own action in response to it.

Sherlock slowly returned the touch of his hand to her temple while neither spoke. His eyes remained humorless, lips drawing into a hard line before he carefully brought them down to hers in a kiss.

She reveled in the sweet nips that he placed on her mouth, his idle fingers ghosting smoothly down the length of her arm. He soon caught her hand in his before he brought it beside her head, firmly lacing their fingers together. A small gasp was emitted from her when he detached from her mouth, the weight of his head coming to rest fully on her shoulder.

They laid together in a heap of intertwined limbs and hard contented breaths, both deep within their own thoughts. It might have been minutes before either spoke, and it was he who raised the question.

"Is it what you want?" He murmured against her neck, seeming to tense when he asked. The hand slightly loosened its sharp hold on hers as he awaited her response.

"A baby," She posed quietly in an attempt to hide the rasp in her voice, made difficult by the rising lump in her throat.

He answered with a soft kiss to the juncture below her ear, soothing her erratic pulse.

"I thought you'd never ask." She managed to whisper in a strained laugh, tightening her fingers around their weakened grasp.

It wasn't a lie.

* * *

A/N: The next update shouldn't be far away.. Drop a review if you have the time.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Look who finally updated! Goodness, I wasn't even aware that it's been that long. These past few weeks have been nothing short of absolutely insane. Let me be the first to say that graduating high school is no walk in the park. I'm probably not the first person to say that but it's crazy. Graduation is next week, right after finals. Oh sweet lord, wish me luck. I apologize again for the wait. Enjoy!

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Chapter 4

Her fingers slipped over the pages of a book, eyes briefly skimming over the words as her thoughts were thrown elsewhere. She curled her legs underneath her, sinking back into the chair that her husband so often adorned.

The late afternoon had brought a thick cover of rain to London, filling their flat with the sound of a muted roll of thunder every now and then, and the constant spatter of raindrops that dribbled down the windows in cold streaks.

Sherlock had discovered the bag of severed fingers from the morgue that morning, and had since occupied himself with them in the kitchen. A fervent clinking of glass and a few frustrated sighs could be heard from where Molly lounged (she softly grinned at the latter).

She set her book aside, briefly closing her eyes in rest. It was then that the quiet was broken with a sudden deafening crash that shook the flat itself, booming with a clang of glass and smoke.

"Sher-" She bolted upright in her chair, eyes barely taking in the billowing smoke that filled the whole of the kitchen before she scrambled forwards, knocking the lamp shade askew as she made for the thick cloud. She ran through it without a hint of hesitation, inadvertently slamming into his body at full force.

The wind was knocked out of them, both stumbling to the floor in a coughing fit that mingled hatefully with the smoke. Her eyes stung, chemicals burning in her throat when she inhaled for air.

Before he had fully caught his breath, Sherlock grabbed her wrist and jerked forcefully from where they landed. He pulled her upwards, dragging her by the hand as she struggled to her feet through the choking fumes.

The fell in a heap on the carpeted floor, away from the thinning smoke. The fire sprinklers were triggered, spurting to life from the ceiling as they sprayed down a shower of freezing water. It soaked the couple that lay gasping on the ground, along with everything else in the flat.

It was minutes before either found the solid ground to speak, registering the shock of what had just happened while they inhaled the clean oxygen through their lungs, and water that beaded icily on their faces.

"Are you alright?" Molly managed to ask when she groggily lifted her head from his chest to view him properly.

Even as he barely heaved for breath, he nodded with half open eyelids that fell closed exhaustedly under the drenched curls that framed his face. It was right before she maneuvered off of his chest that the front door swung open, entering their panicked landlady, who had yet to divest of her cooking apron.

"Oh dear... " Was the only thing she found utterable at the sight of the flat, and the state of the inhabitants.

Sherlock groaned painfully as he sat up, slowly helping his wife to stand before he shrugged out of the now sopping wet dressing gown that he wore over a t-shirt and flannel trousers. He stalked over to turn off the fire sprinklers, muttering curses under his breath.

Mrs. Hudson was at Molly's side in an instant, coaxing her to sit while she went to seek out a pile of towels. Her head spun even as she had complete control in the damp chair she sat on, letting it fall into her hands. It was when she inhaled slowly that she coughed unpleasantly at the hollow dryness in her throat.

Only moments after the sprinklers shut off did she catch sight of the detective's bare feet as he came to stand in front of her. Her vision drifted upwards to his guilty expression that he attempted to pose as guiltless, bearing a glass of water for her to take. She had rather not have taken it, but her dry thirst from the substance she had breathed in proved to be more demanding.

"Thank you," She sighed, accepting the offered drink. She sipped the water as he knelt down to her level.

"Best to drink all of it." He advised quietly. "Vaporized chromic acid does tend to dry out the respiratory tract."

She couldn't stifle the grin at the slight the upturned quirk of his mouth. The present smile dropped when her eyes went past his face to the kitchen, finding the poor chemistry set in ruin, along with a good amount of the chromic acid plastered to the walls and cupboards.

"What just happened?" Molly gestured pointedly at the kitchen.

"Experiment." He sighed irritably, taking to stand and pace the room.

"I guessed that much." She pressed heatedly, finishing off the glass of water.

Sherlock's brows furrowed, throwing a smug glance in her direction before he retreated to the kitchen to examine the damage.

"I think you've got your work cut out for you." Molly said when she could finally stand, assessing the flat in exasperation.

"Yes, I believe I do." His voice was soft, eyes suddenly hard on hers when he looked up from the batted microscope, giving off a mock-serious air. She shook her head at that, biting her lip to subdue a laugh.

* * *

Molly knew that he could sense her nervousness as they worked together to dry out the flat from the indoor shower it had received, opening windows to air out the rooms, toweling down the furniture, and blow drying their books as the pages had been soaked.

"What changed your mind?" She finally asked, back to him while she was knelt down on the floor with a rag, drying down the wood surface while he kept busy cleaning his mess in the kitchen, if not rather grudgingly.

He looked up from his work, which consisted of him trying to dislodge a shard of glass from a crevice in a cabinet with a pair of tweezers. She had not turned to face him when she'd asked, suggesting that there were in fact some reservations to his proposal. He returned his attention to the damned piece of glass, deciding to feign confusion in response to her question.

"What about?"

He hadn't expected her to abandon her rag on the floor at that. She took to standing before she decidedly placing her hands on her hips. Letting out a soft sigh, she rubbed her sleeve across her forehead as it had meant to be unheard.

"Starting a family." She wasn't angry.

He paused, eyes raking absently over his work before turning to meet the back of her head from across the room.

"You assume that I never wanted children."

"You've told me before,"

"I think you're mistaken, Molly."

She faced him, gaze inquisitive on his hardened expression.

"It..." She laughed, "it wasn't even a month ago that you were bashing marriages that jumped straight into parenthood."

"We're both aware that I've never said a word against the idea of having children _at all._ And again, you assume from my aversion to the mindless formation of families that I don't want one."

"I just thought that you wouldn't," She stated with finality, strongly insinuating her desire not to fight, "considering your 'aversion' to that sort of thing."

His gaze softened at that, and he nodded once, dropping the tweezers on the stovetop after he finally managed to pry the glass from the cupboard. He ran his fingers through his curls, looking to his wife, who had quietly returned to her work.

"I can see why it might lead to that conclusion."

"Yes," She agreed, drying the mantel.

"I suppose we should take you off the pill, then."

Her eyes fell closed briefly as she paused, coming to remember what she would have to endure. She was close to telling him, recollecting the effects of ceasing the birth control. He would know if she didn't, but still, she couldn't find the will or the words to do so. He wanted a family, and that was it.

It would be his happiness, but the sheer force of will that was driven by a fear that she shouldn't have had in the first place, that prompted her silence. This was her husband, and the shame that she felt so insufferably wasn't supposed to be there, yet it was.

Of course she trusted him, but her insecurities were her own, and it was the confusion and fear that clouded her judgement over simply explaining her condition.

She nodded in response, turning to him with a smile before she softly flung the wet rag into the kitchen sink. Her hands tentatively wound around the back of his neck, weaving through the dark tendrils that awaited her there.

He was quiet and unmoving at her touch, but his eyes fell closed at the sensation of her fingers tugging softly at his follicles. His lips parted, and she stood up on her tip toes to catch them in a chaste kiss, which deepened quickly on both of their parts. There was a subtle smirk on his lips when she finally drew away, her hands sliding over the cotton material on his shoulders.

"I take it that we're finished cleaning the flat?" He breathed hopefully.

She grinned.

"Not even close."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I cant thank you lovelies enough for your support! The feedback I'm receiving is very immense and helpful, its wonderful :) Here's the next update - I know its been a while, sorry. Summer has arrived so I'll hopefully be able to crank these out a bit quicker (That is if I can find the time away from work). Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 5

And so they spurred off in an attempt to create life, gently seeking the moment where it might possibly bring about a pregnancy.

Still, it was only Molly who knew how inevitably, it would never happen. As they struggled through the failed tests, Sherlock knew that something was amiss.

He saw it in the way that she would often take to sit in her office during work hours, instead of her usual trek around the lab. Every now and then he would come through the doorway, and she in turn would appear joyful at his presence. She greeted him with a soft nature of the loving partner she had always been, but there was a subtle restraint in her actions, and it was one that he alone could see.

He soon saw it in the gradual loss of their conversation, and how he seldom heard her voice, let alone his own. Molly had become quiet, as though her thoughts were preoccupied with something that troubled her deeply. If he hadn't known better he would have thought she had fallen into a minor depression.

There was a stiffness to the way Molly would carry herself nowadays, a barely visible way of moving that was slightly tense.

He would observe her strained stance, and in feeling that it was a given act more than some marital obligation, guided her home from work at the end of each day. She would react as though she did not need it, but accepted it in the end. "I'm just feeling a bit drowsy." She would say, timidly brushing a strand of hair behind her ear before blaming her cautious movement on the loss of medication in her system.

These things had not escaped Sherlock's notice, seeing how it was clear that she was in pain. The sight alone unnerved him.

As far as he remembered, he had been nothing but gentle with her, but he couldn't deny that something had recently occurred to have caused this hurting. There could have been a number of explanations, but his concern was not the origin. Rather he was more focused on why she hadn't once spoken of it.

Molly had never been one to be secretive, not that she could be if she wanted. It was obvious this time, that she was trying to hide whatever it was that bore down on her thoughts.

It was as though she was anticipating something dreadful to occur, and feared it to be lurking around every corner. She looked afraid, so apprehensive of her own movements as though each one physically pained her to make, and it had been that way in the five weeks that they had started trying.

His affection was unreservedly given, bearing itself in the most open and vulnerable of ways as it had for years now. She would accept it, and embrace it in the full, intimate light of that terrifying, wonderful expression of love. In the end though, her actions were unreceptive, her expression idle as though she was in a sort of sleep.

She was still sensitive during sex, but it was as if she was letting him take it for himself, without giving a care to joy or even her own release. In a way, he observed, she had given up, and become submissive to him even when he didn't wish her to be. Their love in these moments had always been pure and in every way equal, but she now acted as though she had surrendered to his desires.

It was over the span of a few weeks that she began to grow cold towards him. Not in the way that spoke hatred, or even mild anger. It was utter guilt, and he had seen it at first glance.

She never said a word, and that is what sent him into confusion, and ultimately allowed the loneliness to have crept back out from where it had been buried long ago.

He felt alone while he laid beside his wife, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she slept, the calm expression on her face, and still did not understand.

Her entry into his life hadn't the birthplace of his human emotions, as that had beared itself even when he was young. But he couldn't help but wonder if she would relay the same sentiment had she been in his place, desperately seeking the source of her vacant nature towards him.

Come to think of it, he thought, she had been there before.

And he was like a child in the sense that he still yearned to know what it was that bothered her, but it was different now because there was a growing distance between them. He quickly realized that it was as much his doing as it was hers.

* * *

John Watson was sat in his work office, clear of patients at the close of the week. Gathering the scattered papers that littered his desk, he sighed and took to standing, stretching his limbs with a few popped joints. He grinned to himself as she closed his laptop, thinking of his daughter and wife at home.

On most evenings, Mary would bring their little Emma out on the front steps of the flat. She would hold their babbling two-year-old in her lap, singing softly whilst the baby would stare, mesmerized, at the passing cars on the street. Together they would wait until his cab would pull up in front of them, and he would step out, eager to embrace his family.

This evening would have been no different, had a particular pair of cheekbones and belstaff coat not decided to barge through his office door at the last minute.

"John," Sherlock acknowledged, nodding once as he entered, standing stiffly in the center of the office with a absent look about the room.

John had almost taken this moment to express his blunt annoyance at Sherlock's timing, but he knew this man well enough to know when something troubled him, and he saw it plainly now. The dark circles under his eyes, coupled with the lack of contact spoke openly that he was overcome with exhaustion. But he stood ramrod straight, hands in his coat pockets as though he was attempting to conceal it.

"You were just leaving." Sherlock stated before he could get a word out.

"Yes actually," John sighed, reluctantly placing his belongings back on the desk. "You alright?"

"Fine." He replied quickly, taking to slump down in the arm chair in the corner of the office. For a moment there was a heavy silence, as though Sherlock couldn't decide wether he should subject John to his marital conflict.

"Something wrong, then?" John pressed heatedly, knowing he wouldn't be leaving for some time now.

Sherlock glanced upwards, making eye contact as he emerged wistfully from his thoughts.

"It's Molly."

John had expected a case that had proved difficult, or anything else really. Sherlock had confided in him over many years on such things, but had never once come to him about his wife. He gave a fixed stare to the ground, brows furrowed slightly before he decidedly came back with a light inquiry.

"So, was there some sort of row between you two?"

"No, there wasn't." Sherlock had spoke softly, almost absentmindedly.

John didn't know what to say, as there had usually been a heinous insult somewhere in the mix of his replies when he had attempted to guess his 'feelings' towards certain subjects.

"She's, um..." Sherlock started, falling short of words as he failed to put them together in his head. Even that was unusual for him.

"Is she alright?" John asked, taking to sit as well.

"I don't know."

"Meaning?"

"She's... in some sort of pain, and has been since we've started trying for a baby."

"Sorry," John hesitated, "What?"

"A baby, John."

John stared, mouth slightly agape before the ghost of a grin almost formed.

Sherlock sighed, "Molly agreed to try, and so we have been."

"That means... you suggested it."

"Yes."

"You."

"I honestly don't understand why it's such a surprise. I've never said anything against the idea."

John continued to grin. "I knew it would happen some day, I just always thought it would be Molly who would have to spend years trying to convince you. It... you just didn't strike me as the type."

"So it would seem."

"Well I'm proud of you, mate."

There was a smile from Sherlock at that, but it faded as quickly as it came.

"But you say she's in pain." John urged. "What kind of pain exactly?"

"It's emotional as well as physical, but she appears to be stagnant about it, as though she's decided to endure it."

"And you've asked about it."

"In the beginning I did, and she would simply write it off as something minor. Unimportant. But now she's," He paused, voices growing hoarse when he continued. "We haven't spoken much, as of late."

"I'm sorry to hear that." John finally uttered after a painfully long absence of words between the two men.

"I need to know what's hurting her, John." Sherlock stated, standing from the chair. "That's the only reason I came here tonight."

"And what do you expect me to do?"

"I need you to get into the database to find Molly's medical records. That should be a good starting point."

"Her medical records?"

"When I know what causes the physical pain, I'll be able to remedy it as well as the emotional. Until then I'm at a loss for what to do."

"Sherlock, I can't just-"

"Please." There was desperation his voice, and he sounded so aimless that John couldn't refuse.

"Alright." John sighed, nodding solemnly.

"Thank you."

"Is there something you expect to find?"

Sherlock didn't speak for the moment, dreading his own answer as it had been forming in his thoughts from the moment he suspected Molly's condition.

"Text me the results." He uttered quietly before he swept hastily from the room.


End file.
